


the river under myrrdin

by jellijeans



Series: Ferdibert Week 2019 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Timeline Flashbacks, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fainting, Ferdibert Week 2019, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Recovery, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21663376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellijeans/pseuds/jellijeans
Summary: Ferdinand thinks that trying to capture the Great Bridge of Myrrdin in the dead of winter was not the best idea that Edelgard has ever had.There is something about being out here on this bridge, with snow piling around them, catching on his armor and his hair and his eyelashes, that makes him viscerally uncomfortable.(A part of him feels like that, in another life, he might have died out here. If the professor had not come back, and if he had been stationed out here, Aegir being one of the closest territories to the Alliance...Ferdinand tries not to think about it.)
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: Ferdibert Week 2019 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558747
Comments: 12
Kudos: 138





	the river under myrrdin

**Author's Note:**

> this is for day 3 of ferdibert week! the theme is winter!
> 
> based on the concept that characters might remember/have flashbacks to events that occur in other routes; e.g. ferdinand's death at the great bridge of myrrdin

Ferdinand thinks that trying to capture the Great Bridge of Myrrdin in the dead of winter was not the best idea that Edelgard has ever had.

There is something about being out here on this bridge, with snow piling around them, catching on his armor and his hair and his eyelashes, that makes him viscerally uncomfortable.

(A part of him feels like that, in another life, he might have died out here. If the professor had not come back, and if he had been stationed out here, Aegir being one of the closest territories to the Alliance...

Ferdinand tries not to think about it.)

Still, in this life, Hubert is beside him, hands certainly warmer than Ferdinand’s as he throws fire spell after fire spell between his fingers, not large enough to hurt but enough to keep his fingers from freezing. In this life, they follow Edelgard onto the bridge as they take in the force that is stationed there, as they meet eyes with the Hero of Daphnel, who flexes her hands around her weapon and readies her troops.

There is something about the bridge, Ferdinand thinks. There is something about the bridge and the raging waters of the Airmid river below that frightens him. There is something about the clashing of swords and the splitting of armor and the crackling of magic that makes him feel like he’s going to throw up.

The battle, thankfully, is over quickly. The professor and Edelgard make their way to Judith with relatively little trouble and strike her down where she stands; she dies with an apology to Claude, and Edelgard’s mouth tightens into a line. That is not a name she wanted to hear so soon, Ferdinand thinks.

The rest of the soldiers retreat fairly quickly, their commander dead. Edelgard tells Hubert to write another request for flowers to lay on Judith’s grave—she was not a bad person, he hears Edelgard say, merely one that had the misfortune of being on the wrong side of history—and then he turns to the side, sees the rushing of the river beside him, and nearly falls off his horse.

“Ferdinand!”

Hubert is over him almost as soon as he hits the ground. His mind is everywhere, and he feels as if he’s going to pass out—and it’s not like it was when he was a student, because he has been fighting for five years now, has seen more murder and death in the past five years than most people see in their entire lives. He is not squeamish. He is not unused to death.

He is unused to what feels like living through his own death, unused to fighting on what feels like should have been his grave.

His head is pulsing. He feels like vomiting. The professor has a look on their face that is indecipherable save the sheen of guilt that covers their eyes, and when their lime green gaze falls on him, the sensation only gets worse.

“Ferdinand, can you hear me? Ferdinand!”  
“Hubert—”

And the cold is getting to him, piercing through his armor like a spear through his chest, and he needs to be inside, somewhere warm and safe and away from this bridge, away from the river that roars like it wants to drag him to the bottom and away from the Alliance blood on the bridge that he swears could have been his.

He feels like he is dying and yet not all at once, and it is horrible.

“Ferdinand— _ Ferdinand _ —”

And then there are arms beneath him, lifting him up, and his head is against a chest clothed in black—

—Hubert’s? Has Hubert always been strong enough to pick him up like this?—

—and the river is still roaring but at least he is stable, cradled in someone else’s arms, and he is  _ exhausted _ , and he is so,  _ so _ cold, and Hubert is yelling something and so is Edelgard, and the professor is right behind Hubert, shooing him somewhere, and for once Hubert is not snapping at them, and then Ferdinand cannot hear the river anymore, and he also cannot feel his hands, and then he closes his eyes.

-

He wakes up in an infirmary he doesn’t quite recognize but supposes must be the infirmary within the base stationed by the bridge and with Hubert by his side, both of his hands cradling just one of Ferdinand’s, his head down with his forehead resting against the mattress.

Ferdinand clears his throat, and Hubert’s head shoots up. For a moment, his eyes are filled with panic, then quickly cycling to relief and then back to concern as he stands up, immediately inspecting Ferdinand’s face and neck, whatever is exposed.

“Ferdinand—are you alright?”

“I think?”  
“What happened out there?” Hubert asks, tilting Ferdinand’s face to the side. He’s doing something slightly magical with his finger on the skin above Ferdinand’s jugular that makes him want to squirm a little bit, and it takes a moment to realize that he’s checking for sigils. There is concern on Hubert’s face for reasons Ferdinand doesn’t quite understand, but he thinks it may be connected to the thing that he and Edelgard are always whispering about.

“I do not know,” Ferdinand says, because he can’t even bring himself to lie about it. “It felt as if I were dying, Hubert, and yet not. I thought perhaps I had. I expected to die as soon as we stepped foot on that bridge.”

“And yet you did not,” Hubert says. He shoots Ferdinand another very concerned look before moving his hand, fingers hovering over Ferdinand’s loosened cravat. “...excuse me.”

Ferdinand raises an eyebrow as Hubert undoes Ferdinand’s cravat and then unbuttons his shirt, lowering the collar just enough to examine his collarbones. Ferdinand immediately flushes—the situation is strikingly similar to Hubert  _ undressing him _ —and tries to ignore how Hubert’s magic-scarred fingertips trace over his collarbone, tries not to think about how this might go if he hadn’t nearly died. Nonetheless, it seems that Hubert has not found anything particularly wrong, so he sits back with a relieved huff.

“Was that necessary, Hubert?” Ferdinand asks, sheepishly buttoning his shirt back up. Hubert flushes and looks away.

“I wanted to check if it was a sigil, or if someone had cursed you.” There is more he wants to say, Ferdinand can tell, but he does not elaborate. Ferdinand wants to know who that “someone” is, but he doesn’t ask. He learned a long time ago that there are some things that only Hubert knows, typically for good reason.

“I do not think I was cursed—”

“—you were not—”

“—but I wish I had a better answer for you, Hubert. You know me. I am weak of heart; I have fainted before. Perhaps it was just another fainting spell, exacerbated by the cold.”

The look of disbelief that Hubert shoots him almost hurts as much as whatever happened on the bridge.

“Ferdinand, I would sooner believe that you were having a heart attack.”

“...perhaps.”

He does not say more after that, because he doesn’t know  _ what _ to say, how to explain to Hubert that he is sure he has died there in another life that is somehow exactly the same as this one, that the professor’s eyes on him felt like they wielded their blade against  _ him _ instead of against Judith. He does not know if anyone will understand, much less Hubert. Hubert, always rational, always level-headed. 

Hubert would not believe in such nonsense. Ferdinand nearly curses at himself, but he is stopped when Hubert takes Ferdinand’s hands in his, looking at him with such tenderness and concern that it’s almost frightening. He exhales and then raises one hand to Ferdinand’s chin, tilting his head to the side and gently fitting his mouth over Ferdinand’s, and oh, he is  _ warm _ . If the chill of winter had convinced him he was going to die, Hubert’s warmth brings him back alive; his lips are soft against Ferdinand’s, a side of himself he shows to no one, not even Lady Edelgard’s.

Ferdinand’s alone, he realizes, and the life spreads to his cheeks, pink for other reasons than frostbite.

“Please do not do that again,” Hubert says, still close enough that Ferdinand can taste every word on his lips. He caresses the side of Ferdinand’s face before pulling away. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Hubert—”

—but then the door is closed, and all that is left of Hubert is the ghost of him against Ferdinand’s lips, warm despite the snow outside, alive despite the raging waters of the river below.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! come yell with me on twitter at @jellijeans !!


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